


share the feeling

by jamesiee, Rianne



Series: a history of hazing [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, bros being bros, jack deserves all the happiness, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesiee/pseuds/jamesiee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rianne/pseuds/Rianne
Summary: Jack has finally been hazed and initiated into the SMH team, three years after the seniors purposefully excluded him. There are a lot of feelings to be had about this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is once again in response to that headcanon by [bshitty](https://bshitty.tumblr.com):  
> "good morning, the real reason jack didn’t take part in hazeapalooza as a frog wasn’t because he ducked out and avoided it but because the upperclassmen ‘forgot’ to kidnap him from his dorm and include him"
> 
> Make sure to start at the beginning of the series!!

The morning after Jack’s hazing, the Haus is in a bit of disarray. None of the inhabitants of the Haus got as drunk as Chowder or even as drunk as Dex, but there’s still a fair bit of moaning and groaning. Bittle is near-frowning as he hands out glasses of water, aspirins, and baked goods – when did he make _muffins_? Did he get up hungover to bake, or did he _stay_ up even after the frogs had passed out on the green couch? Jack supposes he’ll never know.

Jack was the least drunk SMH member last night. He still somehow managed to get lost in the Haus when he was blindfolded and nearly toppled down the stairs _even though he has lived there for two years,_ but he thinks that that was because he was laughing so much, rather than due to the two beers he had. Somehow, though, he still feels almost tipsy as he settles down at the kitchen table and Bittle hands him a plate of eggs and bacon. Jack could’ve sworn it’s been two minutes at most since Bittle handed out the last muffin and returned to the kitchen, but somehow there’s a full-fledged breakfast in front of him.

“Thanks, Bittle,” he says, internally debating whether the post-hazing breakfast is worth the early-morning Beyoncé. After his first bite, he amends his answer from _maybe_ to _almost definitely_. Bittle makes some good eggs and bacon.

Bittle nods at him and sits down with his own plate, though he foregoes digging in and instead groans and puts his head down on the table. Somewhere between the howling-at-the-rink and the moment when Shitty declared the initiation over and allowed Bittle to hand out his pies, Bittle clearly had enough alcohol to regret it now.

God, Bittle and his pies and sweaters. Jack smiles at the thought. As it turns out, being hazed by someone like Bittle had been heart-warming and hilarious in equal measure. Holster had had to physically restrain Bittle from handing out blankets – produced from seemingly _nowhere_ – when Chowder had fallen over and rolled around the ice. Chowder did not handle alcohol well.

The other boys gradually find their way into the kitchen – the frogs had passed out on various flat surfaces in the living room – and are served by Bittle, who jumps up and then groans and grabs his head whenever anyone enters. Jack eats his eggs and bacon and then wanders back up to his room, still feeling oddly light and content.

He’s brushing his teeth and debating whether to put in some hours at the rink when Shitty steps into their shared bathroom. Shitty had saved most of his drinking for after the hazing. After Jack had been temporarily demoted from captain to frog, Shitty had been responsible for the hazing ritual and the well-being of the frogs. Shitty never took responsibility seriously except for those times when he took it _very_ seriously. Those tended to be the times when other people depended on him, rather than the times when his father demanded he cut his hair and go to business school.

Once the frogs had been released, Shitty had taken custody of the almost-empty cooler of beer instead. There are bags under his eyes now, but he looks pretty chipper as he grabs his toothbrush and stands next to Jack. Even though Shitty had been clothed at breakfast, he has somehow seen the need to take his clothes off again and is now clad only in boxers.

“Was a good night, man,” Shitty says around his toothbrush.

“Mmhmm,” Jack acquiesces.

“Can’t believe you hadn’t been hazed.”

“Hah, yeah,” Jack says.

The shame that usually accompanies the thought of his not having been hazed doesn’t come this time. Jack revels in the feeling of belonging that has taken its place. The sense of rightness makes him linger in the bathroom, which is why he’s still pointlessly standing around when Shitty has spat out his toothpaste and says, “So where were you?”

“What?” Jack says, finally turning to push open the door to his room.

“Back in freshman year, brah. When you should’ve been hazed.”

“Oh.” He might have been initiated now, but the memory of Schmaltzy and Alf standing outside his door, whispering about the misfortune of being sent to kidnap Jack Zimmermann, has not quite lost its sting. He hesitates just a little too long. “Like I said, I was out of town.”

The next moment, Shitty is waving a toothbrush in his face, forcing Jack to step back through his room until he sinks down onto his bed. “Brah,” Shitty says, standing over Jack and gesticulating with his toothbrush. “You gotta come up with a better story than that.”

Jack blows out a breath. Shitty looks at him for another moment, then puts down the toothbrush, sits down on the bed, and attempts to drag Jack onto his lap. Jack, caught off guard, manages to brace himself only just in time, and there’s a brief struggle until Shitty gives up and they settle side by side with their backs against the wall. “You got your anxiety face on, man,” Shitty says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I…” He hesitates. Shitty would drop the subject if Jack didn’t want to talk about it. But after last night, he can actually imagine himself talking about their freshman hazing without dying of shame. He might not have been part of the team then, but he knows he’s part of the team _now_. And it’s Shitty who made that happen.

Shitty puts his head on Jack’s shoulder and waits while Jack collects his thoughts. “I… wasn’t out of town,” Jack says eventually.

He doesn’t say anything else for a little while, and eventually Shitty says, “I was trying to remember our— my hazing. I’m pretty sure I was texting you when they came to get me. Figured they’d get you later, and I didn’t realise you never showed up till yesterday.”

Jack heaves another sigh (they’re good for releasing tension, according to his therapist) and says, “Remember Alf and Schmaltzy?”

“Chyeah,” Shitty scoffs. “I remember punching Alf in the fucking face.”

Jack chuckles, but he feels his face fall when he remembers he still has a story to tell. “Well. Uh. They. They were supposed to get me.” Shitty’s still leaning on his shoulder, so Jack can’t see his face. He briefly considers keeping the memory to himself after all. Shitty would still let him, he knows, even though he must be burning with curiosity by now.

Then again, maybe it’ll be good to get this off his chest. “I didn’t— I was in my dorm. Heard them talking outside the door. They, ah. They decided that—”

He broke off, and Shitty hissed in a breath. “Those fuckers,” he mutters. “Sorry. Go on.”

Jack smiles despite the fact that it feels like a stone has settled in his stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten all of Bittle’s bacon. He takes a deep breath and pushes the rest of the story out in one go. “They rock-paper-scissored over who had to get me. I think Schmaltzy lost, but they—” His voice drops to a whisper against his will. “I heard them say I was maybe doing drugs in there.” He shakes his head to dispel the thought even as Shitty tenses against his shoulder. “They said they were going to tell Busher I wasn’t there. Then they left. I, ah, I went back to studying. So that’s… yeah.”

“Fucking _fuckers_ ,” Shitty hisses. “Did they think no-one was gonna notice?”

Jack huffs out a half-laugh. “Shits, nobody _did_ notice. It’s fine, I… It was fine.”

“You can’t lie worth shit, Jack,” Shitty says mildly. A moment later, he lifts his head off Jack’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. “If I ever run into those shit-faced doucheholes again, I won’t leave a tooth in either of their mouths.”

Jack laughs in earnest now, warmed by the fervour in Shitty’s voice. “It’s fine, really. I’m—I’ve been hazed now, so...”

“Fucking shit, Jack, you been carrying this around for three years until we hazed you?” Shitty sits up properly and pokes him in the chest. “You have, haven’t you? Until yesterday? Dude, if I’d realised— If _anyone_ had realised but those bigoted fuckers— And fuck Busher too, by the way, for buying their bullshit!” he snaps.

Jack feels his mouth curl into a smile. He rests his head against the wall behind him. “Thanks, Shitty.”

“Dude, you should’ve told me before,” Shitty says, sitting back again as well. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know? Not for _you_ anyway. Those assholes on the other hand…”

Jack almost regrets that time he explained to Shitty how his anxiety works, because the man knows him entirely too well. He doesn’t bother trying to convince Shitty that he hasn’t been ashamed, because he has. Ashamed that he wasn’t likeable enough, that he couldn’t get his teammates to respect him. Ashamed that he was at Samwell in the first place when he could’ve been drafted. But he’s been working hard on not letting those feelings control his life, and yesterday’s hazing feels like a reward for all that work.

Beside him, Shitty is still raving about Schmaltzy and Alf and Busher and the people who were juniors when Shitty and Jack first started at Samwell.

“It’s fine,” Jack repeats when Shitty has to pause for breath, and it’s not a lie. “It is. Yesterday… was good.”

Shitty pushes his shoulder into Jack’s. “Good,” he says. “Though I hope you know you were already on the team.”

“I know,” he says.

“Good,” Shitty says. “Now let me sleep off my hangover.” He shifts to plant his face in Jack’s lap, heedless of Jack’s protests.

“Shitty,” he laughs through his attempts to push the other man off. “Go to your own room. At _least_ put some clothes on.”

“Brah, you love it,” Shitty declares, and then decides to try to put Jack in a headlock and the entire thing turns into a brawl. Jack wins those even when Shitty isn’t hungover, so it’s not long before he’s shoved Shitty through their bathroom and into his own room. They’re both laughing as Shitty tumbles onto his bed.

“There, now you can sleep off your hangover,” Jack says, grinning as he turns to head back to his room.

“Hey, Jack?” Shitty says. Jack turns in the doorway. “I got your back, bro.”

Jack is smiling as he grabs his history book and heads downstairs to read in the living room. He runs into Bittle in the hallway, who is yawning but perks up when he spots Jack. “Jack!” he says. “Listen, I hope we weren’t too hard on you with the hazing yesterday. I mean, you are the captain and I don’t want you to think we disrespect you, and it’s just that I know you don’t like to drink a lot so I hope you didn’t feel pressured when we—”

“Bittle,” Jack says, unable to help the fond smile on his face. Bittle falls silent. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Because—”’

“I’m sure.” Jack nods at Bittle and turns to head to the stairs. “Best hazing a man could hope for.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> you should leave a comment bc i will love you forever if you do


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